


I Dreamt of Heaven

by augusteofarles



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Actually they all need hugs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, Damen needs a hug, F/M, Gen, Head Injury, Hospitals, M/M, and I won't rest until they get them, not graphic, yes very original
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 09:51:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augusteofarles/pseuds/augusteofarles
Summary: Laurent loses three years of his life and gains a husband.





	I Dreamt of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> Just a PSA  
> I know nothing about medical stuff. This is just from a little research and my brain so I apologize if it’s innaccurate.

There was a loud and incessant ringing in the room.

Laurent wondered if had set an alarm the night before. Was there a lecture he had to attend?

Laurent had once come close to missing a final exam because he had set his alarm to ring at six in the evening instead of the morning. He had woken up anyway, at just the right time, and had made it to class.

What had the class been again?

Come to think of it, Laurent couldn’t recall what class it was he was taking now. Or where.

There was an all-consuming fog in his mind, muddling and morphing all of his thoughts so that he couldn’t focus on one thing at a time.

The sound was getting louder now, piercing through Laurent’s brain with every beep.

He wanted to reach out, bring an end to whatever it was producing the noise, throw his phone at the wall and go back to sleep, except that he cauldn't quite place where his arms were.

He was floating and yet his body was heavy as stone all at once.

 

Awareness came slowly.

 

Laurent was lying in a bed, he could tell so much, and he did not need to open his eyes to know that it was not his bed, which was well enough because opening his eyes was an impossible task. His eyelids were heavy curtains blocking his way to the world and keeping him in darkness.

But Laurent did not like the dark and he had never shied away from a challenge before.

With a ridiculous amount of effort and pure self will, he lifted his heavy eyes open.

 

His sleep-heavy vision was a murky mix of lights and shapes. Like looking through a window with the pouring rain morphing the world into a blurry mess.

He blinked a few times until, slowly, the hazy jigsaw of blurs began to take shape.

A white ceiling, the long blaring lights of a hospital room. To his left there was an IV bag, its tubes reaching down into his arm and next to it, the culprit.

The heart monitor, strangely, sounded a little quieter, now that Laurent recognized it for what it was, as though it had lost its power. Laurent, in his hazy state, felt a brief sense of victory before remembering again where he was. If he was lying in a hospital bed, it would benefit him to have a heart that was beating.

He tried to remember how he got here, but thinking logically was proving to be another challenge. It was a testament to his compromised state that it took some time for Laurent to notice.

 

There was a man, sitting in a chair by his bed, his head inclined so that all Laurent could see at first was a tussle of curls.

 _He must be a nurse_ , Laurent thought except that...he was holding Laurent’s hand in his.

Laurent must have made some noise then, because the man looked up abruptly and the look on his face would have been comical if Laurent could remember how to laugh.

“Laurent,” he said, clutching his hand even tighter.

Laurent wanted to reply. He wanted to ask what had happened. He wanted to ask who the man was, how he knew his name and why he was holding his hand, but all that came up was a garbled noise.

 

There was something in his throat, Laurent realized, and when he did, it took center stage.

 

Panic settled in place of the sluggish numbness.

Laurent couldn’t breath. There was a tube blocking his airway.

He was lying in a hospital bed and he was going to suffocate in this room with a stranger by his side. The abominable machine started blaring at his side. _Beep beep beep,_ like a countdown.

Laurent raised his other hand, the one that was not being help by the man, to his mouth, to inspect, but the man was quickly moving his hand away, irritatingly easily, and Laurent was left lying immobile and trying to remember how to breath.

“Hey no, it’s okay. It’s okay,” the man said. “We have to keep this for now okay? It’s helping.” He was looking at Laurent with a wide, knowing look. He had brown skin and honey gold eyes. Laurent thought that, absurdly, they were wet with tears.

The man was still talking, he realized, in a deep, calming voice. Laurent could see his mouth moving, could hear the words come out but they were just sounds that his mind couldn’t seem to connect and make sense of. It was an unsettling feeling but then the man was softly brushing Laurent's hair away from his face with a large, warm hand, caressing his cheek and it was enough to distract Laurent long enough so that the air reached his lungs once again. The heart monitor returned to its monotone tune.

“I’m gonna get the nurse okay,” the stranger said and “you’re okay.”

  


_What the fuck,_ Laurent thought, as darkness took over again.

***  


Laurent wasn’t sure how long he was asleep for, but when he opened his eyes again, the man was still there.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he said. Rolling his eyes seemed like too much effort, but his expression must have sent the message across.

“I know it’s annoying,” he said. He was talking about the ventilator, Laurent realized.

 _It’s you that’s annoying,_ Laurent wanted to say. “The doctor said they can remove it today.” He said it with a huge, open smile on his face like it was the greatest news he’d ever heard. It would be ridiculously _touching,_ if Laurent could figure out who he was.

He realized, in some part of his mind, that the man _knew_ him, and that it should worry Laurent that he _did not_.

But there was a haziness in his mind, a sort of comfortable numbness that wouldn’t let him think too deeply of it.

“Auguste is on his way,” the man said, and it was enough to rouse Laurent from his stupor.

Auguste.

It would be so good to see him, to have him by his side, to help him make sense of what was happening.

“The one day he isn’t here in the morning and you decide to wake up,” the man said  with a chuckle.

A doctor visited him, after some time, a tall, middle aged man who introduced himself as Dr. Paschal. He spent a few minutes greeting him with a warm smile, then spoke to the man for a few more.

 _Damen,_ he called him. Laurent stored it in the back of his mind and hoped it would stay there. Thoughts seemed to be impermanent and fickle.

He asked Laurent how he is faring, and Laurent’s irritation must have shown on his face because they both gave a small laugh. _They will have the ventilator removed shortly_ , he informed him and that Laurent was fine breathing on his own, as though it was a big feat.

The man, _Damen,_ lifted Laurent’s hand, that he seemed to think needed to constantly be attached to his, and laid a light kiss on his palm.

The doctor, whose name Laurent forgot, spent some time speaking about Laurent’s condition, and Laurent tried very hard to keep his fleeting concentration on his words.

_This is important._

He’d been in an accident.

He had a head injury.

He’d been in an induced coma for a week and a half.

He had a broken arm.

A sprained ankle.

Light bruising.

He was going to be _just fine._

 

_Oh._

 

Some time later, two nurses helped remove the tube from his throat, just as he had promised. It was a horrid, uncomfortable feeling, and Damen clutched his hand again while they did it, looking so pained that one would think he was the one in bed. Ridiculously, Laurent felt a relief at the sensation.

He wasn’t going to be able to speak properly for some time, they told him. Having a plastic tube shoved down your throat for two weeks would do that to you, Laurent thought grimly. It didn’t matter much anyway because, apparently, the process had been strenuous enough to knock him out for some time more.

 

When he opened his eyes next, Damen spent  a few minutes patiently feeding him ice chips. He couldn’t have water yet, the nurse had told him and Laurent wanted to throw a pillow at his face.

Damen was talking again, non stop. It was mindless chit chat, with a side of cheesy, heartfelt remarks. He sounded frantic, shook up. He was venting, like he had been holding on to his words for a long time.

Damen has _missed him more than words can express_ . Laurent was not allowed to scare him this way again. Damen was _just fine_ , had come out unscathed, he told Laurent, which was how Laurent found out that Damen had been with him in the car during the accident. The brace on his left hand should have been a giveaway.

He’s fine, _thanks to him,_ Damen said. On impact, Laurent had covered Damen _with his body_ , taking on the full impact. A tear escaped from his brown eye when he said the last part. Laurent felt like he couldn’t breath again. Perhaps they should have left the ventilator in.

 _I love you,_ Damen said, and it was the last, final shove off of the cliff of this clusterfuck of a situation.

Surely he was dreaming. He was probably still in a come. This hospital room, this bed, these lights, they were all in his head. Damen was a figment of his imagination.

_He’s too hot anyway._

The machine was unhappy again, his heart rate was accelerating, his breathing was shallow and Damen’s eyes were full of frantic worry again. Is he alright? Should Damen get the nurse? Is he in pain? He wasn’t sure which one of them was panicking more. It was almost funny. Almost.

Laurent tried to get a hold of himself. He urged words to come out of his dry throat.

“You’re not a nurse,” Laurent said, stupidly. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t had water in a long time. _He hadn’t._

“What?” Damen said.

If thinking had been difficult, speaking was an impossible venture. Laurent’s brain felt like mush. It was irritating, to be lost for words.

“You want me to call the nurse?” Damen said. How was he not understanding. Laurent shook his head, closed his eyes.

“ _Baby_ what’s wrong?”

Laurent was going to smother him with the pillow under his head, once he got a hold of his body functions.

“Who are you?” Laurent heard himself ask, finally, short and simple.

“What?” Damen said again and Laurent almost felt guilty for how his face fell.

“Are you playing a joke? Because it’s not funny,” he asked with a nervous laugh, but it was  obvious from his face that he knew Laurent was not joking. “Do you not recognize me?”

Laurent shook his head, words were feeling too complicated now. He closed his eyes again. He wished he could go back to sleep. To wake up in his bed, to his normal life. Except that...he was having a hard time recalling what exactly that life was. Where it was he lived.

Arles University dorms? That should be it, and yet a part of him felt like it wasn’t .

Their family house? But they had not lived there since mom and dad had died. He wished Auguste was here. He would remind Laurent. He would know what to do.

His heart rate must have been accelerating again because Damen had a hand on his shoulder, _softly,_ like Laurent was going to break from contact.  
“Hey it’s okay,” he was saying. He was trying to hide his own worry, Laurent could tell even through his dazed state. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Damen was saying something else, but darkness was taking over again.

This time, Laurent welcomed it with open arms.

  


Auguste was there when he woke up again. Laurent could have cried  from the relief of it. He looked tired. He had bags under his eyes and he hadn’t shaved, but he was here by his side.

“You scared the shit out of me, kid,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said. He wasn’t not sure what he was sorry for and he had so many questions but he hates the look in Auguste’s eyes.

“How you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” Laurent said because he didn’t want Auguste to worry. He always made Auguste worry.

There was a ringing in his ears and a shooting pain in his head. Damen was no longer in the room. Maybe Laurent had imagined him after all.

“I told Damen to wait outside,” Auguste said. “For now.”

 

_Oh._

 

“I know you’re confused,” Auguste was saying. He never could hide anything from Auguste. “You hurt your head a bit, during impact,” he said. “The doctor thinks it may have caused a bit of memory loss. But you’re gonna be okay. Just need to be a little patient okay?”

"Okay."

They speak for some time, or Auguste spoke, and Laurent listened, his voice like a lullaby. Auguste had a hand on his forearm and it brought Laurent back to the moment, put the ground back under his feet.

What was the last thing he remembered, Auguste asks. Laurent wasn’t sure. College maybe. The house in Arles?

 _I'm not sure,_ Laurent said

 _Okay,_ Auguste said, in the calm way he always did when Laurent was upset as a child.

His mind was a jumbled mess.

It was missing the last three years of his life, it turned out. Laurent had graduated. He was a journalist. He worked at a local newspaper.

"You can write about this when you’re better," Auguste said, trying to lighten up the mood and almost succeeding.

Laurent didn’t have the memories to back any of the facts up, but if Auguste was saying them then they must have been true.

They made sense too, fell in line with the plan that Laurent had set out for himself.

_Except.._

“I don’t know who he is,” Laurent said, in-eloquently. It was struggle to form concrete sentences based on his thoughts, but he didn’t need to clarify for Auguste to understand.

“His name is Damen,” Auguste said calmly. “You met him three years ago.” That would explain why Laurent couldn’t recognize him.

There was something else that Auguste wanted to say, but he was hesitating.

“What?” Laurent said.

“You don’t recognize him at all?” He was stalling, Laurent could tell. He shook his head "no.”

“You met him three years ago,” he repeated, “and you’ve been married for two.”

For a brief moment, Laurent waited for the punchline of what must have been a joke. But Auguste would never play a joke on him in such a way, Laurent knew in the back of his mind.

Damen’s mannerisms had made it clear that he was more than a stranger, more than a friend. Maybe some guy that Laurent had recently met. A temporary lover. An overzealous friend with a crush.

 _Marriage_ had definitely not been in the plans.

“Are you okay?” Auguste said. Laurent was getting tired of hearing those words. He noded, because there was not much else to say. Auguste looked unsure.

“The doctor will come look at you in a little bit okay?” And then “this is temporary, you’ll see.” Laurent was sure that Auguste did not actually know that.

“Okay,” he said anyway. He was tired and wanted to sleep.

 

Time moved in a strange way after that. Laurent must have fallen in and out of consciousness throughout that time, but never fully awaken. Auguste was there every time, and Laurent felt relief wash over him the brief moments he was awake.

Damen was there too, sometimes, and Laurent was not sure what to feel.

_His husband._

The idea of it was ridiculous, something he hadn’t thought on since the age of 13.

At one point he thought he could hear them speaking, quietly.

 _“Do you think I should leave?”_ Damen was saying.

“ _No,”_ Auguste said quickly, and then, “ _I don’t know.”_ It was quiet for some time. _“We’ll future it out, don’t worry.”_ Auguste was saying.

Auguste was always reassuring the people around him. Always the protector, always the one putting on the smile, even through his own pain. Laurent felt his mind wave and wonder.

He remembered seeing Auguste cry for the first time, the day their mother had died. He had tried to hide it from Laurent. Had smiled through the tears and had told him that they would be fine and Laurent had believed him.

The next time had been different. The next time they had been older, and his years had been angry, anguished sobs as he had held Laurent with a stream of _sorry_ ’s. It had been in the old home, the night he’d found out-

Laurent didn’t want to think about that now. He wasn’t used to not having control over the reins of his mind. It was a dark and impulsive place when left out of check for too long and Laurent needed to get back control.

 

The doctor was back when consciousness came back. He spent more time asking Laurent questions.

Was he in any pain? _No._

What was the last thing he remembered? _He wasn’t sure._

Laurent had memory loss, the doctor confirmed, though so much had already been obvious to him.

Confusion and forgetfulness were common after a traumatic brain injury, he said. It would take some time for Laurent to get back to normal, but _we will work our way up towards recovery._ It sounded overly poetic, a self help pamphlet, like one of the one in his therapist’s office.

Was Laurent still in therapy _?_

Or maybe Laurent was just high.

Mostly he just wanted to sleep.

The doctor spent some time doing tests. How strong could Laurent squeeze his hand? Not too long. Could he move his legs? Could he repeat these words? _How many fingers was he holding?_

Laurent refrained from rolling his eyes but deep down he hoped he had passed the tests.

“When can I leave?” He asked.

“It may take some time,” the doctor said. “But you are doing great so far.”

Laurent was certain he had asked the same question before. His memories felt unsteady, temporary, like sand castles in the wind.

Auguste had once built a sandcastle near their beach house in Kempt and had appointed Laurent its all powerful sovereign.

 _Long live King Laurent of Vere!_ He has chimed, and Laurent had laughed until his stomach had hurt and mom had called them back inside for dinner.

It had been mom’s birthday. Her last one. The wind had-

“Laurent.”

They must have been speaking to him again, all three looking down at him. Auguste, with a steadying hand on his shoulder, Damen looking like a kicked puppy and the doctor with stoic professionalism.

“Do you have any questions?” The doctor said, or likely repeated.

Laurent had many questions.

“No,” he said. He wanted to close his eyes. To sleep and hide away from whatever it was that was happening.

 

So he did.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @augusteofarles


End file.
